-and so she watched
by if-llamas-could-fly
Summary: In this life, they were known as Sam and Dean, vessels of the two most powerful archangels. The lives before this one? Well, those are a whole other story. WIP
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This story has been a WIP for so long, I'm actually embarrassed at myself. As it is, I literally just managed to finish the first chapter. It's crap, but I'm too tired to work on it any longer. Also, rebirth is totally a thing. Like, for real. Okay, on to the story now. :)**_~Sammy_

* * *

_**-and so she watched**_

_One_

They meet under a maple tree.

It isn't a first meeting, and it isn't a last. It's just a meeting, like all the others. (their first meeting was bloody, with screams and shouts and _pain_- they suspect their last meeting will go something like that too, and they don't really care)

It's autumn and the leaves have turned colors- they haven't _faded_ so much as _exploded_ into vibrant shades of yellow and orange and ochre and brown and, their personal favorite, red. The hard-packed dirt underneath their feet is carpeted with five-point leaves that paint the path with fire and warm sunsets. The leaves are dry- they crunch and rustle and hiss with every shift of their dusty boots, like so many snakes guarding a nest- and they spend the first few minutes of their meeting simply kicking them up in a cloud of childish glee and once-beautiful dead things that are still beautiful.

The leaves settle down though, (too soon, always too soon, _never enough time for play, is there, big brother_) and the _brotherscomradessoulmates_ stand in front of each other, their chests heaving with breaths that are heavier than they should be.

_their wings once beat for days without a thought, and the skies spread out below them, theirs to explore, to discover, to claim_

His little brother, taller than Him, is the first to look away. he casts his gaze up at the sky that is a clear blue (but he had once seen bluer skies, he had once _created_ bluer skies) and he sighs- a gesture that's so common, He laughs, a laugh that bubbles up and tumbles over jewel-pink lips that barely smile anymore. (He's fallen but less fallen, because He fell first but He fell slower)

_bored, brother?_, He asks, His lips- the ones the filthy little mud-monkeys _begged_ to have a taste of- twisted into a smile that is not a smile but a crude upturn of His lips into a sneer.

His brother laughs. _ialways am._

He barely sees the flash of silver in the pale sunlight before the blade is sinking deep into His brother's shoulder.

The leaves rustle, _scream_, and He rushes forward, catching His brother even as he sinks to the ground, His fingers deep in his feathers. (they're ashen gray and molten red, a shimmering darkness to hide behind when the fires grow too bright)

He can hear the whisper of wings as the sneaky bastard of an assassin flits away, but He pays no attention to it, because His little brother's got a blade stuck in him, and there's the faintest hum of Grace dripping out from the wound.

_shamsiel, _He says, yet somehow there are no words on His lips, only cries of pain pain pain.

Shamsiel smiles that infuriating smile he always smiles when everything is wrong but he's grasping at reasons to be cheerful. _your wings get fluffier when you're worried, diniel. if only the fledglings knew what a softie you are. _

And Diniel laughs, because the other option is crying, and warriors do _not_ cry. _you can tell them yourself, _He says, instead.

Shamsiel looks down at the blade in his chest, at the Grace slipping away, faster and faster, and when he looks back up, his eyes are shattered glass, sharp and fractured. _i don't think i will, brother. not this time_.

The scorch and flare of dying wings is agonising, Diniel thinks, later, when a Fallen One has His own blade positioned over His heart, where rough feather burn scars crisscross over smooth skin.. He imagines Shamsiel's worried eyes, his apology for hurting him.

_it's alright_, He says, _i will join you soon enough. and until then, i will wear your scars as a gift. _

An angel's death toll sounds through Heaven.

It sounds like relief.

* * *

_(Shamsiel- from book of Enoch- sun of God_

_Diniel- an angel of amulets- guardian of the infants)_

**A/N Was that weird? Yes. Will it make sense after a couple more chapters? Definitely. Let me know what you thought in a review. Reviews are food for the Muse. :) **_~Sammy_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Rebirth is still a thing, and I swear this'll make more sense at some point. **_~Sammy_

* * *

**_-and so she watched_**

_Two_

The king has a kingdom, and it is a happy one.

The king's shoes are soft deerskin, supple and stitched so fine there seem to be no seams.

The king sleeps on pelts of fur, white and black wolf hair long and luscious.

The king's fingers are thick and his gold rings are thick and the jewels are on a thick chain 'round his neck.

The king's crown gleams with gold and prosperity.

The king cries for his kingdom.

The king sends knight after knight to the castle in the South.

The king's shaking hands smear the ink on the apologies he writes to their families.

The king stands solemn at their funerals, at empty graves left empty for a lack of flesh and blood and once-life to bury.

The king trembles in the night, when the skies are dark and the stars are too faint to warn of danger.

The king has lost too many good men.

The king will lose more.

The king has lost hope.

The king finds two young men in his court.

_i am David, son of James, and this is my brother, Saer_

The king is speechless when they bow, straight-backed and respectful.

_we could be of assistance, my lord_

The king sees their work roughened hands wield blades as though they sprung from the womb embroiled in battle.

The king asks why.

_it is our duty_

The king sees the determination in their odd colored eyes, light and shifting.

The king finds hope.

The king sends them South.

The king waits.

The king nearly weeps when Saer returns, blood on his tunic, dragon head in his hands.

_i killed the beast, my lord_

The king laughs until he cries, and calls him brave.

_it killed my brother, my lord, i took my revenge_

The king pauses, mourns for a brief moment, offers him a reward for his labors.

_i want nothing from you_

The king watches the man walk away, back no longer straight, no longer respectful.

The king has a smile wide as the moon, bright as the sun.

The king has not smiled in years.

* * *

_(Saer- Welsh origin- woodworker_

_David- Mesopotamian origin- beloved)_

**A/N Let me know what you thought in a review! Reviews are candy, and my Muse is a sugar addict. :) **_~Sammy_


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